


My Silence Will Smash Your Jaws

by Narcissistic_Ninny



Category: One Piece
Genre: Angst, F/M, M/M, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-17
Updated: 2013-11-17
Packaged: 2018-01-01 21:19:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1048684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Narcissistic_Ninny/pseuds/Narcissistic_Ninny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zoro's in love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Silence Will Smash Your Jaws

**Author's Note:**

> The title is a line from a poem by Vasko Popa. This is un-beta’d, so all mistakes are my own. Err, enjoy.

 

 

Zoro's in love.

You look in the mirror, your red, bee-stung lips, the marks on your shoulder and collar left from last night. Last night, when you were bouncing in a stranger’s lap, your arms around his thick shoulders, his big hands on your hips, the whole time you wished it were Zoro's lap you were in. You gasped and moaned, hiding your face in his neck, but his sweat tasted wrong, the way he held you with smooth hands, it just felt wrong. It wasn’t Zoro's voice whispering in your ear, it wasn’t his calloused palms on your ass.

Beggars can’t be choosers, so you’ll take what you can get.

Zoro's in love, you just wish like hell it were you he was in love with.

It’s Nami Zoro's in love with. Months ago, when you have been jealous of the swordsman. Now you’re just jealous of the navigator. Nami, the way she places her hand on Zoro's chest, the way she stands on her toes to kiss his lips, it’s the way you imagine kissing him.

Late at night you can see Nami climbing her way up to the crow’s nest to where Zoro stays for the night shift. They never come down until morning. You notice these things. You notice the way he puts his hand on the small of her back when he talks to her, the way she looks at him when he’s training out on the deck when she’s sunbathing. You notice the way they bicker about things, the way he’s always worried about her, how he’s always the one protecting her and keeping her safe. The way she buys short skirts and the way Zoro's eyes are drawn to her thighs.

It kills you inside, seeing that. You wish you could be the bigger man and be happy for him, but you’re not. All you care about is your pain, how it hurts, how miserable you feel. The silence that kills you, that threatens to come out like an ugly monster in the night.

You fight with the swordsman to get his attention on you for as long as you can. Those few minutes when you can get him all railed up, get him out of the protective shell of his usual calm demeanor, you like it when you can get him to react to you. You like getting him flushed and angry, the way he fists his hands in your suit jacket, crashing your foreheads together, snarling in your face, it’s the way you imagine he would handle you right before a kiss. For those few minutes, you can dream.

Every time you buy supplies for the ship you always make sure to buy alcohol for him, even if Nami is the one reminding you to buy enough meat and booze for Luffy and Zoro, even if she sometimes goes out and buys it herself. You cook Zoro's favorite foods, even if he always claims he doesn’t have a favorite dish and that all your meals taste the same. When he gets lost, you’re always the one going out to look for him, because for a few minutes, it’ll be just the two of you, you leading the way and him following you, exchanging insults along the way.

Those times he gets hurt from a fight, you make him sure he eats and sleeps, walking into the nursing bay and finding Nami sitting there by his side, watching him with big brown eyes, worried about him as much as you are. You shouldn’t be jealous, but you can’t help it. You never show it, you smile and flirt with Nami, pretending and lying to yourself. You’ve gotten good at it too. Lying.

In the mirror, you look at the imprints that man’s teeth left on your shoulder, the way he marked you in ways you want to be marked by Zoro. The way he came inside you, the way you clung to him through your orgasm, thinking of Zoro.

In the bathroom, your face in the mirror, you wish you could be Zoro's type. You wish Zoro would take your chin in his hands and kiss you softly the way you see him kissing Nami. You wish he would brush your hair away from your face, wish he would put his arm around your waist, wish he would do these things to you instead of Nami.

All his nicknames and insults for you, you pretend Zoro never says your name and those nicknames are endearments he has for you, that you’re somehow special to him. The way Zoro sometimes gives you hope, the way you see he actually cares about you, cares if you live or die, even if he says he doesn’t. That day he told you, “Oh, that ball looks good on you.” It’s stupid, but you cling to those stupid things he does.

You wish Zoro would sit next to you late at night in the crow’s nest, telling you about his dreams. You want to be that person he confines in, that he trusts and respects. You wish he would show that soft and gentle side of himself that he tries to hide, that side of him that he shows to everyone but you. 

With light fingers, you touch the marks on your skin, brushing over them lightly, the crescent marks from crooked teeth and fingernails, pink and purple on your pale skin. You’re so lost in thought you don’t even hear the door opening.

Zoro steps in, all impatient, sweating from his early morning exercise, his voice like gravel breaking your thoughts. “Shit cook, you’ve been in here forever! Hurry the fuck up, I gotta take a shower-”

He stops talking when he sees you. Your bruises and bite marks, all from a man that reminded you of Zoro, except not really.

Normally, you tell him it was a woman. You’ve gotten really good and smiling and lying through your teeth. You and your false façade, you can pretend you’re a ladies man, but truth is, you just want a man in your bed. Zoro always believes you too. As far as he knows, you love women. He doesn’t know that every island the ship visits, you go into town searching for a man. He doesn’t know how every time you see a man with a strong muscular build gets your skin flushed. He doesn’t know that the sight of tanned skin makes your knees go weak. Zoro doesn’t know how the sight of a man with scars and earrings turns you on more than anything, that deep voices go straight to your groin. He doesn’t know that you really want cock.

He doesn’t know about all those times you fucked girls, trying to get him off your mind. You went from women to women, telling yourself to not think about him. Zoro doesn’t know about the first time you let a man take you to bed, when you had enough alcohol in you to make it okay, the way you shuddered when his cock slid inside you, the way you gave into your desires completely. You remember thinking, as the man kissed you with firm chapped lips, this is exactly what you wanted.

Zoro's eyes on your red mouth, the way that man bit your lips, the way you sucked him, carpet burns on your knees, the way his big hands left impressions on your skin, you can’t tell Zoro it was a woman you spent the night with. The way you still smell like semen and musky cologne that’s not your own, you can’t get out of this.

Bless his heart, you can tell Zoro's first thought is that you’re hurt. His first thought isn’t that you went and sought this out. At first he’s angry, you can tell he’s ready to defend you, like you’re his to protect. Then he sees, really sees, and he knows, this isn’t something you were forced to do. You can’t read his expression, you don’t know if you want to.

It’s too late to cover it up, so you just stand there, letting his eyes travel on your exposed chest, his own naked chest inches from yours, but the situation is all wrong. You can’t lie this time, there’s nothing you can say to fix this. You hold your breath and you just know it’s going to end badly.

You’re just so tried of lying, to him, to yourself. You don’t even care if he knows anymore; you know you can’t do it anymore. You can’t pretend its pussy that you want. You wish you could tell him the truth, say, “I let these men fuck me, I let them do it and pretend it’s you.” Admit, “I love you.”

Biting your lip to keep that from slipping, you stand there and let Zoro look at you with his knowing eyes, pinning you there on the bathroom tiles with his burning gaze, you count your heartbeats, you wait. Zoro and his deep voice, he says, “Sorry, I should have knocked.”

He lowers his head like he’s embarrassed, like he’s the one that should be ashamed. He walks out, shutting the door after himself, leaving you alone, your marked skin and broken heart.

 

 


End file.
